


Endgame

by eternalsunshine13



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Enemies to Lovers, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mafia Zine, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshine13/pseuds/eternalsunshine13
Summary: Through his rifle scope, Victor watched Yuuri Katsuki walk into the bar across the street. It’d be so easy to take him out tonight, wait patiently until Katsuki wandered into view, thenbang.By the time they located and searched this hotel room, he’d be in the wind. But killing Katsuki could end up creating as many problems as it solved. The FBI had a tendency to take hits on their top agents very personally. Still, as Victor finished his cigarette, he considered it. With someone as good as Katsuki out of the way, it might be years until anyone got that close again, if ever.--Assassin meets FBI agent. Assassin falls in love with FBI agent. Oops.





	Endgame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voxofthevoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/gifts).



> My mafia zine piece! I had so much fun working with so many lovely and talented people <3
> 
> Dedicated to Vox, who has gone from an acquaintance to one of my closest friends between the time this was written and the time of posting. You are always such a bright spot in my day.

 i.

 

Through his rifle scope, Victor watched Yuuri Katsuki walk into the bar across the street. It’d be so easy to take him out tonight, wait patiently until Katsuki wandered into view, then _bang_. By the time they located and searched this hotel room, he’d be in the wind. But killing Katsuki could end up creating as many problems as it solved. The FBI had a tendency to take hits on their top agents very personally. Still, as Victor finished his cigarette, he considered it. With someone as good as Katsuki out of the way, it might be years until anyone got that close again, if ever. 

Slinging a jacket over his right shoulder, he left the room and crossed the street. He ordered a glass of wine and sat back, watching Katsuki with a friend at the other end of the bar. Call it a healthy professional curiosity. Yakov did like to repeat that old adage: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Victor sized up his opponent and couldn’t see how such a quiet, unassuming man almost ruined the hit on the federal prosecutor earlier that day. 

Victor was on his third glass of wine when Yuuri approached him. For one terrifying second, Victor thought it was all over. He’d mapped out at least three ways to make a quick exit before he sat down and—

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Yuuri said, dropping into the seat across him. Shirt askew, tie loose around his neck, he reached for Victor’s wine and finished it for him. 

Oh. He’d been made, just not for the reasons he thought.

“Dance with me,” Yuuri commanded. Victor’s lips parted in surprise. He should leave, touch base with Yakov.

Instead, he smiled. “Only if you burn that tie.”

*

The next morning, Victor woke up disoriented, head aching. He reached for the hotel phone to request aspirin only to realize he wasn’t in his room at all. Before he could turn to confirm what he feared, a sleeping Yuuri Katsuki rolled over to drape a heavy arm over him, pulling Victor closer. He squeezed his eyes shut. _Fuck_. 

It was still dark out. A world class hitman with a reputation for accomplishing the impossible, he’d have no problem extricating himself and leaving quietly. Then Yuuri pressed a soft kiss against his bare shoulder and Victor was lost. 

An hour later when Yuuri finally woke, he pulled away in embarrassment, leaving Victor feeling cold, empty.

“Let me make you breakfast before you go at least,” Yuuri said and looked relieved when he nodded.

Victor sat at the counter watching Yuuri expertly fold omelets. 

“So, what do you do?” Yuuri asked as he turned off the stove. 

Victor hesitated. He specialized in difficult cases—a key witness, an active informant, a federal prosecutor. It didn’t matter if they were in witness protection or under heavy police escort. If you needed someone taken out, you called Victor. Well, actually you called Yakov, who called Victor, but you get the picture. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to answer,” Yuuri said, plating the omelets. “Unless you’re an international assassin for hire.”

Victor laughed uncomfortably. “What is it that you do?” 

“I work for the FBI.”

“Sounds exciting.” 

“Not really. I’m an analyst, not a field agent.”

Victor’s eyes traveled to the gun and badge by the door. 

Yuuri followed his gaze. “I do the occasional bit of field work, but I’m mostly at a desk these days.” 

They ate by the balcony, and as Yuuri watched light break over the city, Victor watched Yuuri, hair adorably mussed, eyes sharp behind blue-framed glasses, sitting in sweatpants and a white tee that Victor wanted to pull off. He shut his eyes, savored the memories of the previous night before reluctantly getting up. 

Yuuri followed him as he slid on his blazer, ran a rough hand through his hair. “So,” he said, standing by the door.

“So,” Yuuri said softly, the vulnerability in his eyes cutting straight through Victor. 

He should leave and lay low for a while. Yakov had been begging him to take a vacation, and with the difficulties of this last job, God knew he deserved one. 

They both knew what this was—a drunken one night stand. 

“Well, have a good day,” Yuuri said, holding open the door. 

“You too,” Victor said, and shivered as he stepped out into the hallway, cast out of the warmth of Yuuri’s apartment. 

Then, as the door swung toward him, Victor raised an arm, blocking it with his elbow. “Can I see you again?” His words came out in a rush, surprising even himself. He never did this. No one ever inspired a reaction like this from him, but when Yuuri’s entire face lit up, Victor forgot how to breathe. 

 

ii.

 

By the end of the first month, Victor’s bespoke suits hung in the closet next to Yuuri’s bad ties, and Makka’s toys were scattered around Yuuri’s loft. By the end of the second month, Victor had met Yuuri’s best friend Phichit, a coroner at the FBI. By the end of the third month, they were talking about moving in together to save on rent since they were practically spending every night at Yuuri’s place. 

Christophe was horrified when Victor told him. “Tell me you’re joking,” he said. 

“I’m not,” Victor said, expression serious, almost grim. 

“You only met the guy three months ago,” he said. “Does he know?” 

“No, of course not. I had to improvise, he thinks I’m an art dealer. Luckily I had Victor Ivanov’s cover handy, thanks to you,” he said. 

“No problem,” Christophe said faintly, clearly still in shock. “Victor, I don’t hear from you for six months and you just show up here and tell me you’re moving in with some guy you just met?” 

Christophe was Victor’s preferred expert forger, and in some ways, Victor’s only friend in the business, though _friend_ was possibly a stretch given how little they saw of each other, how little they even knew of each other. It was better that way, keeping their distance in the event a job went sideways. 

But it was also lonely, never having someone to talk to, never having someone waiting for him at the end of a long day. 

“Don’t worry about me, I know what I’m doing,” Victor said with more confidence than he felt. “So. Are you free Friday for drinks?” 

“Sure, anything for you,” Christophe said.

Victor hated asking for favors, but someone with his profession didn’t exactly have a lot of people to call on and Yuuri had been asking to meet his friends. He’d finally run out of excuses and so they found themselves at a classy, no-frills bar on a Friday night. 

“And what is it that you do, Yuuri?” Christophe asked politely.

“I work at the FBI,” he said.

Victor pointedly avoided Christophe’s look of alarm. And later, when they said their goodnights, he pulled Victor into a tight embrace, whispered, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

The truth was Victor _didn’t_ know what he was doing. There were moments he thought Yuuri was too good to be true. Like when he’d turn on music mid-breakfast on lazy Sunday mornings, pull Victor up to dance in their socks, laughing and sliding around the loft with Makkachin. Or how competitive he was, always such a sore loser when they played card games. Or when he told Victor to be himself, like he could see there was still good in Victor’s black heart, like he could see something worth saving.

But those moments were intertwined with a deep worry Victor would be caught in a lie. He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Yuuri to discover who he really was. 

At times, Victor couldn’t tell if it was true love or if it was just the rush of being with the one person who could end him. But he got his answer on their first year anniversary, when Yuuri proposed over dessert. 

“I love you, Victor. Will you spend the rest of your life with me?” Yuuri said, eyes shy and cheeks pink. 

Victor’s reply was immediate: “Yes.” 

But at the engagement party, Christophe cornered him. “What’s the endgame here?” he asked. “You still haven’t told him, and even if you do, you can’t guarantee he won’t arrest you on the spot. You don’t have a future, Victor. Be reasonable. I’m only saying this because I’m trying to look out for you. What are you going to do, marry him as Victor Ivanov and wait until the day one of you steps on a land mine? What about your bosses?”

“I can handle them.”

“No, you can’t. Don’t be stupid, Victor. If they get a whiff of this, they’ll send Plisetsky to take both of you out. Be smart. There’s still time to just disappear, lay low, maybe avoid New York for a few years,” he said.

“Christophe, relax, it’s my engagement party. Have a drink, dance with somebody!” Victor said with his most charming smile. “You know,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I’ve caught Phichit looking over this way a couple of times.” 

Christophe blanched. “He’s FBI, Victor. Don’t pull me into the same reckless predicament.”

A trained and methodical killer, Victor didn’t frighten easily, and he wasn’t scared now. But Christophe had been right—he had to have an endgame. Watching his fiancé dance toward him, tie loose, hair disheveled just like the first night they met, Victor fell in love all over again. 

“Victor, stop looking at Chris,” Yuuri said, touching his cheek. “Look at me.”

“I am,” Victor said. “I am looking at you.” 

“You’re not looking at me enough,” he said. 

“Sorry, _solnyshko_. I’ll do better,” Victor said, still a little distracted.

“Is everything alright?” Yuuri asked. “You seem sad. Come on, let’s dance. We just got engaged. You can’t be sad, it’s the law.” 

“Okay, okay, since it’s the _law_.” Victor smiled. 

Yuuri drew him closer and closer still, their bodies pressed together, all heat and skin, tension and release. Then he leaned in and whispered in Victor’s ear: “Guess what?”

“What, _solnyshko_?” 

“I’m going to marry you,” Yuuri said, stealing the breath right out of him. 

Victor’s eyes softened as he cupped Yuuri’s face, pulling him in for a slow kiss as their bodies swayed to the music. He didn’t have a plan yet, but Victor knew one thing with a searing certainty: Yuuri was his endgame. 

 

iii.

 

Victor had a reputation for extreme caution, always employing wigs, colored contacts, gloves whenever possible, even facial prosthetics. This part of the work had never bothered him—he relished slipping into someone new, playing a character. 

But now, it pained him to slide off the ring Yuuri had given him, kissing it before he tucked it away. He found himself constantly checking the chain around his neck, patting the place over his heart, feeling its shape underneath his disguise, under whatever role he’d adopted. 

It was the only anchor to his life and love, to the person he was when he was with Yuuri. The real Victor.

He had tried talking to Yakov about retiring but Yakov had thought he was joking. “People like us don’t retire. You knew what you were getting into, don’t make me laugh, Vitya. Retire? Retirement is for respectable people. Nine to five office drones.” 

So Victor had to make a contingency plan, maybe go off grid for a while. Worst case scenario he’d have to fake his own death, but then he’d have to burn all of his covers, including Ivanov, which meant he’d have to tell Yuuri the truth. 

The target was Dr. Mila Babicheva and her wife, Sara Crispino. The good doctor had worked for the mob and been paid well for her work. Like him, she knew exactly what she was getting into and still turned state’s witness. 

He tracked them day after day, a hunter and his prey, trailing close behind as the US Marshals moved them from hotel to hotel. At night, he switched SIM cards and called Yuuri through a complicated VPN setup. 

“Love you, just got home and heating up something to eat,” Yuuri said when answering his call on one of the last nights before Victor’s return. “Makka misses you.” 

“Give her a kiss for me,” Victor said with such longing in his soul. 

“I miss you too,” Yuuri said as the microwave beeped in the background. 

Victor pulled his ring out, holding it up to the light. “So do I, _solnyshko_.” 

“How’s work?” Yuuri asked after a quiet lull. 

“Horrible.”

“Really?” 

“No, it’s going pretty well actually,” Victor said. He was on track to take out the doctor and her wife in five days’ time. “But you’re not here.”

Yuuri laughed softly. “Can’t wait to see you next week.” 

“How’re things on your end?” Victor pressed the phone to his ear so hard it almost hurt. 

“Well, Makkachin got into the trash again,” Yuuri said. “And before you say anything, yes, it was the new pet-proof trashcan you ordered.” 

“Smart Makka,” Victor said, laughing. 

“Next time I’ll leave the mess for you to clean up,” Yuuri said and Victor could just picture his teasing smile. “Other than that, work’s the same. I might have to go out of town next week.”

“Right when I get back?”

“I know,” Yuuri said. “Awful timing.” 

“Another boring law enforcement conference?” Victor said. 

“I wish.”

“That bad?” 

“I can’t talk about it.” Yuuri sighed, frustrated. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. Have you conquered the Parisian art scene yet?” 

“Of course,” Victor said easily. 

“Oh my god, what time is over there? You should be asleep,” Yuuri admonished.

Victor was actually still in the same time zone, only a four hour car ride away, right outside of Boston. But he sighed and reluctantly exchanged goodbyes. 

That night, as he fell asleep, Victor reached out for Yuuri only to find the other side of the bed cold and empty. 

This hit was going to be his last job, whether his bosses knew it or not.

 

iv.

 

Victor was driving a terrified Dr. Babicheva and Sara Crispino when the world turned upside down in an explosion of broken glass, the horrible sound of metal hitting metal. 

Only a day ago, he’d had everything planned out, exactly where and when he’d take them out—a simple car bomb on their last hotel transfer—but then they moved up Dr. Babicheva’s court date and completely destroyed the last two weeks of meticulous work. Of course he had a contingency plan, though it was less than ideal.

And now he was in Cambridge, careening down a street in the middle of the night, two people in the backseat marked for death and a small army of US Marshals on his tail. 

“Please,” Dr. Babicheva begged. “You have to listen to me. Whatever they told you—”

He ignored her babbling, made a sharp right turn. All he had to do was find a spot that would give him enough time to shoot them and slip away. He made another right, followed by an immediate left. Only two cars remaining. 

“ _Please_ ,” the doctor continued to beg, sobbing desperately. “My sister was diagnosed with cancer and I was still in med school living on student loans and we needed the money and—”

“You must have someone you love!” her wife cut in. “Someone you would do anything for.”

Her words sliced right through him as he thought of Yuuri, of how he’d do anything for him, to keep him.

“You’re a hired gun, but I know you’re not a monster. You’re human just like us,” she continued. “We’ve all made mistakes but it’s not too late. For any of us. Please.”

 One car left as Victor swerved into oncoming traffic, the two women screaming and clutching each other in the back. The last car hit something and flipped. Sirens shrieked in the distance but for now, Victor was alone. And then—

“Look out!” 

A truck barreling toward them. A split second decision. His world turning upside down in a crush of glass and metal.

When it was over, he caught his breath, dizzy from the roll and still upside down. Groaning, he carefully released himself from his seat belt and crawled out. He checked his body quickly for any major injuries and found only surface wounds. _Finish the job_ , his mind screamed as he reached for his gun, attaching the silencer and pointing it at the two women.

“Please,” one of them moaned. 

Victor steadied his hand, took aim—but he couldn’t do it. He kept thinking of Yuuri and all the ways his love for Yuuri had weakened him, all the ways it’d given him strength. He cut the women free. 

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Where are you taking us?” 

“Somewhere safe.” He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. “Come on, hurry.” 

They stumbled but then, supporting each other, they steadied themselves and followed as he quickly texted Christophe. They were close enough to his hideout that they made it in less than ten minutes. 

But as he was explaining just how he was going to help them escape, the door to the small studio exploded open. 

“Freeze!” came a familiar voice and Victor looked up in horror at the sight of Yuuri leaning against the doorframe, gun in his right hand while clutching his left arm in pain. “I’ve already called in my position and back up is— _Victor_?” 

There was no time. “I’m sorry, _solnyshko_.” Victor quickly disarmed him, kicking the gun across the room. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed him one last time before he brought his hand down swiftly, knocking Yuuri out. 

*

It took Victor two weeks to make it home, standing in the building across the street from Yuuri’s loft, watching and waiting. He touched the place over his heart, felt the familiar shape. He’d dumped his phones and destroyed Victor Ivanov completely, but he couldn’t bring himself to toss the ring.

He shouldn’t be here. He should’ve just broken in earlier, taken Makkachin and left, but he wanted to know—had Yuuri told anyone? They could have everything now: his fingerprints, DNA from the hair on his comb, a picture of his real face. 

Victor’s breath hitched when he saw Yuuri enter the loft, greet Makka. He seemed exhausted, sad. As he heated up food, he often stared out of the window as if searching for something, as if he knew Victor would be there, watching him. 

It took six months for Victor to be sure, for him to enter the loft one night and wait for Yuuri. He tensed at the sound of footsteps approaching, the slide and turn of the key. 

“Hi, Victor,” Yuuri said casually, as if he’d been expecting him all along.

 

v.

 

It wasn’t easy faking a death, Christophe should know. Aside from the various necessary papers and identification, there was the question of setting a believable scene with a trail of physical evidence—the most convincing of which was an actual body. So no, it wasn’t easy faking a death, let alone _two_ deaths. He really hoped Victor knew what he was doing.   

“Hey,” Phichit said with way too much cheer for the early hour. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“It’s fine.” Christophe didn’t know what to make of Phichit’s presence. At any moment, he expected a fleet of dark cars to converge on them. At any moment, he expected the FBI to take him and Victor away in cuffs, for Yuuri and Phichit to laugh at how gullible two of the world’s most wanted criminals were. 

“They’ll be here in five,” Phichit said, pocketing his phone and staring out at the dark sea. 

Christophe nodded, tightly hugging the packet with all the necessary documentation for two new lives.

“It’ll be okay,” Phichit said, his voice softer this time, reassuring. 

“Did you take care of your end?” he said, still on edge.

“Of course,” he said.

“Where did you—” _Where did you find suitable bodies? And even if they were burned beyond recognition, what about the dental records?_ “Never mind,” he finished, preferring not to know the grisly details. 

“I’m a coroner,” Phichit said, eyes twinkling, teasing. 

“Right.” 

They both turned at the sound of a car pulling up, its headlights off. 

“They’re here,” Christophe said, almost in disbelief. 

“Come on,” Phichit said, placing a light hand on his elbow. 

When everything was loaded, when Victor, Yuuri, and Makkachin were finally onboard, the sky began to brighten, sunrise imminent. 

“Goodbye, old friend,” Victor said, grasping Christophe in a tight embrace. 

“Take care,” Christophe said. “This is surreal. Am I never going to see you again?” 

“Who knows? Life is full of surprises,” Victor said with a laugh, eyes traveling to Yuuri. 

“Well then I guess this is it. _Bon voyage_ ,” he said as they untied the rope and eased the mini yacht out, motor quiet. 

He and Phichit watched their friends sail off, their smiling faces growing smaller and smaller until they disappeared into the rising sun and into new lives, new adventures. 

“Going back to the city?” Phichit asked, turning to go.

“Yeah.”

“Come on, I know a great diner,” Phichit said, looking at Christophe expectantly.

This was a truly terrible idea. Christophe had a million reasons to say no, to part ways here and never look back.

Instead, he found himself saying yes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments are much appreciated! 
> 
> I can be found lurking around tumblr as [eternalsunshine13](https://eternalsunshine13.tumblr.com)


End file.
